The Complex Feminist Legacy Of ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’

Girl walks home alone at night. Girl is stalked by unseen, ominous creature. Girl suspiciously evaluates her surroundings, continues her walk. When she thinks it’s safe, girl is attacked by creature and meets her grisly fate. This formula is as old as any; the trope of a damsel in distress in horror flicks is one that has been overplayed since the genre’s inception (and is unfortunately still heavily utilized today). What if the girl walked home alone at night, heard a noise, killed the creature, and continued on her merry way? That was the idea that struck Buffy the Vampire Slayercreator Joss Whedon in 1997 when he decided that his poorly-reviewed B-movie from five years earlier would make a hell of a television series. (He was right).

When television audiences were first sucked into Sunnydale 20 years ago, the idea of a horror series that empowered a woman rather than victimizing her was totally unheard of. Who knew that this heavily-highlighted valley girl would have a penchant for kicking ass? As soon as Sarah Michelle Gellar stormed the screen, the rest was history. The reversal of this horror trope was loud, proud, and at the center of the series. No longer was a leading lady doomed to take a death march every time she encountered a fearful foe, and no longer did she have to rely on a big, strong man to come to her rescue: she could save herself. And she did.

“I’m the thing that monsters have nightmares about.”

The show’s pilot begins in a way intended to trick viewers; overconfident boy leads hesitant, apprehensive girl into empty high school for sex, and she fearfully wonders if there’s anyone else in the school. Once he assures her that there isn’t, her face undergoes a hideous change, and she bites his neck. Surprise! She’s a vampire. Welcome to Sunnydale. Cut to: a sleeping teenager who dreams about some scary demonic stuff – and wakes up to her mother reminding her not to be late on her first day of school (and not to get kicked out). Here’s our heroine, banged and barrette-d and in knee-high boots, ready for a clean slate at her new school. While her first day is certainly full of ups and downs, the discovery that her school sits on the Hellmouth (a demonic portal between dimensions) is probably the most interesting information she receives. The secret’s out, and now she’s got to go back to her vampire-slaying ways (with the help of her wise British watcher Giles, of course).

Over the first episode’s 43 minutes, we are introduced to a wide range of women: in addition to Buffy, there’s bookish Willow (Alyson Hannigan), cruel yet popular Cordelia, Buffy’s compassionate mother Joyce, and, of course, Darla, the unrelenting vampire who kicked off this whole mess. From the get-go, Buffy shows us that there’s no one way to be a woman; Willow can ace her classes and crack cheesy jokes in a dress picked out by her mom, Cordelia can exude confidence and be on top of the latest trends while delivering the wittiest of one liners, and Buffy can save the world and be worried about her social life at the same time. You can be smart and sexy, bold and brainy, ferocious and feminine. Nothing is mutually exclusive for the women of Sunnydale.

Female identity and unrestrictive femininity are just some aspects of the many that the series tackles. The manner in which female sexuality is handled is near-unprecedented. While the show is not completely free of sexualizing their female characters, here, the female body becomes an empowering asset. Women openly pursue their individuals of interest, women enjoy sex, and women reject people when they’re over it. Sure, there are problematic aspects to some of the sexual relationships on the show – Buffy’s “punishment” – Angel (David Boreanaz) losing his soul after they have sex – but this also sparked an interesting conversation about what the consequences of sex can be (and, like many of the other supernatural elements of the show, played on a common non-supernatural high school experience: a guy losing interest in a girl after finally having sex).

Later on, Spike’s attempted rape of Buffy feels like poor writing (when was she ever as weak as she seems in this scene?) but her actions afterwards speak to her empowerment. There’s also occasional name-calling between girls, using words like “skank” and “whore”, but most of these instances are early on in the series. As a whole, however, the show handles sexuality in a way that most teen dramas have not achieved – even in 2017. There’s no shame in sexuality; here, it’s a strength. Over seven seasons and between multiple characters, sex is steamy, wild, silly, romantic, and weird – and most of the time, it’s all about the ladies.

Willow’s character development over the series’ seven seasons is the best lens to view the groundbreaking nature of Buffy. When we first meet her, she is an insecure, nerdy computer whiz who hopelessly pines after Xander and generally sits on the sidelines. She starts to come out of her shell in the early seasons when she gets a boyfriend (Seth Green), gets her heart broken, and begins to hone her magical powers and gain confidence. In college, Willow meets Tara (Amber Benson) and falls in love with her, effectively “coming out” along the way. The incredible thing about Willow’s growth is that she evolves from the effective cheerleader to the most powerful member of the friend group – and claims her own agency and sexuality along the way. Though she evidently goes to some dark places, her journey through hell (literally) and back is one that most women rarely get a chance to do on television.

At its very core, Buffy is a story of female empowerment. The nuance with which these women’s stories are told, however, is what sets the show apart from the rest. Buffy’s mother is brave, brash, and compassionate. Dawn (Michelle Tratchtenberg), Buffy’s supernatural little sister, deals with self-harm and kleptomania. Single motherhood, LGBTQ issues, sexual assault, loss, grief, and sexuality existing on a spectrum are just a few of the slew of issues Buffy tackled gracefully (and way ahead of its time). The series ends with the notion that all women and girls have the strength to be slayers; the power to do anything lies within all of us. The most magical thing about Buffy is that it shows us there is no one way to be a woman – and that’s something we’re still celebrating, 20 years later.